


Let Me Look After You

by TourmalineQueen



Series: Rozenn the Breton [14]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Galmar is a grumpy caretaker, Hurt/Comfort, Incomplete, Rozenn gets Princess Fiona'd, Rozenn the Breton, Rozenn's such a bad patient, Skyrim Kinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 02:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20649977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineQueen/pseuds/TourmalineQueen
Summary: Written for the Skyrim Kink meme:The possibilities are endless. M!Any/Any - Hurt/Comfort - Size kink - FluffMaybe someone got raped and their love interest is trying to put it out of their mind. Maybe someone got seriously wounded and their LI is trying to get them to rest, even though they have dragons to kill!! Etc, etc.I just want to see someone trying to comfort someone else much bigger or smaller than them.Squicks are Femslash, anything belonging in a toilet, and excessive gore.Rozenn has been hurt and poor, put-upon Galmar tries to convince her to take it easy while she recovers





	Let Me Look After You

Rozenn woke slowly, eyes kept carefully closed, her memory fuzzy in some places and completely blank in others. It wasn't the first time she had woken like this, and since she was the Dragonborn, she knew it wouldn't be the last time, either. Silently, she started to catalogue her hurts, hoping that that would help her to remember what had happened.

_Pain in my head, must have a head wound. No concussion, though, so that's something to be happy about, at least. Pain in my casting arm. Arrow? Blade? Sprain? Broken bone? Not sure. Pain in my leg - definitely not a broken bone - muscles maybe? Numerous deep bruises, no gashes or grazes. Potions must have been good for the superficial stuff... Magicka gone, no wonder I haven't healed myself_, she realised in disgust. "Wh-what h-happened?" Rozenn croaked, eyes slits, squinting in the light.

"So, you're awake, then, Breton. Good," Galmar's voice rumbled at her side, irrationally making her feel better - in her head and heart if not physically. "Water?"

Rozenn tried to nod and groaned, trying to raise her good arm to her thumping head, only to find it securely tucked into the bedclothes and too awkward to shift. Strong hands gently lifted her head and held a tankard to her lips. More of the water dribbled down her chin than she liked to acknowledge while she sipped. Galmar took the tankard away and surprisingly gently dabbed at her face with a soft handkerchief.

"Better?" Galmar asked quietly.

"Much. Thank you, husband."

"You should sleep; th' healer said that yer magicka'd come back more quickly if you slept," he said firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument.

"You'll stay?" Rozenn hated how needy she sounded, but she intensely disliked feeling so weak and defenceless.

"I'll be nearby, wife. Sleep, now," Galmar ordered her.

For once, Rozenn did as she was told.

Galmar watched his wife sleep, feeling something close to fury at the weakened, injured state in which she had been brought home. When she regained her strength he was going to have _Words_ with her and whoever she had taken to act as bodyguard. _Those Words would definitely not be "Mara's Blessings"_, he thought, grimly amused.

He brushed a strand of hair off her face, and she seemed to lean into his touch in her sleep. He drew away carefully - he was not going to go softly on her just because he loved her, she'd never learn, otherwise.

He sat back into the chair he had dragged into the bedroom, and watched her. At least, now that she was sleeping naturally, he didn't have to worry that she'd stop breathing.

It was dark when Rozenn awoke, feeling badly rested, and sore, and drained of her magicka (_still_, she thought crossly) and cranky from all of it. Worst of all, Galmar wasn't in the bed, and she didn't know where he was.

It wasn't that she _needed_ Galmar, she protested to her own treacherous mind, but he made her feel better - and he was gone _somewhere_. This would never do. Huffing irritably, and blowing her fringe out of her eyes with a puff of breath blown upwards, she threw the bedclothes back, only to cringe as the cool air of the room met her battered, bruised skin. She really did not like the cold air of Windhelm; she tolerated it because Galmar was like a furnace in the bed under or beside her, most of the time. Grimacing, Rozenn sat up and listened for her husband.

She could hear Calder's deep breathing in his bedroom, but no sign of Galmar. Had he left? Had Ulfric summoned him? She was going to have a little chat with Ulfric if that was the case, a little chat about how appropriate - or inappropriate - it was for him to take Galmar away when she needed him most. To cap off her unpleasant night, her stomach growled, despite her still feeling queasy from too many potions taken in quick succession, earlier. Glaring at nothing in particular, Rozenn sighed. She might as well go down to the kitchen and get something to eat. Something bland. Something soft. Something that wouldn't be too unpleasant if it needed to come back up. Divines, she hoped whatever she ate wouldn't come back up.

Reluctantly, she pushed off the edge of the bed and let her full weight rest on her sore legs. She winced. One leg was mottled with bruises, which was uncomfortable, but not impossible; the other leg on the other hand... well. The muscles had tightened all the way up, making it feel a yard shorter than the other. It wasn't, obviously but her own perception and her discomort made her biased. Maybe Galmar would massage it, later. If he was downstairs. She hoped he was downstairs. Actually, if she was honest, she _hoped_ he was really in the bed behind her, but she knew that not to be the case. She shuffled out onto the landing, and made her shuffling, half-limping way to the stairs.

The top step was silent when she trod on it, and so was the second step. The third stair betrayed her, creaking noisily as she gingerly put her foot down.

"Bed. _Now_," Galmar's voice came from below.

"Bed. Now," Galmar repeated, irritably when Rozenn didn't move.

Rozenn bristled at the order. 

"No," she replied defiantly, stepping purposefully onto the next creaky stair.

"Get back up there, this instant, or there will be trouble," Galmar warned her, emerging from the kitchen with a tray in his hands. "Why," he added in exasperation, "did you wake up during the only five minutes I was away from your bedside?"

"_Everything_ hurts," she replied petulantly, "and my magicka is still nowhere near replenished enough to fix it myself. And I've spent too much time in bed already. And I woke up _alone_. I hate feeling so vulnerable, but with you I feel safe, but I woke. Up. _Alone_." 

She stepped carefully down another two stairs, and stood about a third of the way down, scowling in the darkness. She tried to fold her arms across her chest, and yelped when her casting arm reminded her of its injury. 

"Son of a skeever," she muttered.

"My mother was not a skeever," Galmar said mildly, putting the tray down on a table and taking the stairs two at a time to reach her step, where she was bent double and clutching her arm above the elbow. To her surprise, Galmar cast Candlelight overhead, half blinding them both.

"I thought you hated magic," Rozenn queried, blinking light-blinded tears from her eyes.

"I thought _you_ said t'was useful," Galmar retorted, reaching for her injured arm, feeling for breaks, his hands surprisingly gentle for one who seemed so angry.

"It _is_ useful," Rozenn replied, gasping as Galmar's probing fingers found her half-healed injury, "but I thought Nords in general, and you in particular, don't trust in spells and the like."

"We and I don't, as a general rule. But somebody convinced me to learn a handful of useful spells that make life easier - I don't think it's a break, but a nasty sprain, maybe a dislocation of the joint. Upstairs, now," he ordered.

Rozenn glared at him mutely.

"Or go down to the couches and I'll relight the fire, then, if you're set on staying out of the bed," Galmar said in a tone that told her she was being an idiot.

Rozenn continued to scowl at him, and planted her feet on the stair. Galmar, standing a step below her, and still head-and-shoulders taller, shrugged. "Well, if you will insist on being a stubborn fool, neither halfway up nor down..."

The light spell winked out, and taking advantage of the sudden darkness, Galmar grabbed Rozenn about the waist and tossed her over his shoulder.

Rozenn gasped at the unfamiliar, unpleasant sensation of being tossed upside down like a sack of potatoes, then let out an undignified shriek of annoyance, hands scrabbling for purchase along her husband's back, although she was careful not to kick out, in case of an accident.

"Is everything all right out there?" Calder shouted from his room as Galmar strode across the upstairs landing and Rozenn squawked unhappily from her position on his shoulder.

"Yes," Galmar called back, just as Rozenn bellowed, "No!"

After a beat of silence, Calder shouted again, "alright, do what you want, but if the City Guard comes, I know nothing!"

"Good man, I knew Ulfric picked you for a good reason," Galmar chuckled even as Rozenn screamed in impotent rage.

After what had to be the longest amount of time taken traversing the upper level of Hjerim, ever, in Rozenn's opinion, they reached the master bedroom, and Galmar lifted Rozenn down into his arms, then tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed.

"I am fetching the damned tray. Stay there until I get back," he ordered, and turned on his heel.

Rozenn glared after him, but stayed where she was, telling herself that it was more comfortable in bed, anyway, and refusing to acknowledge how much her minor exertions had both hurt and exhausted her. Galmar was back in mere moments, looking surprised that Rozenn was still in the bed.

"You stayed put. You're learning," he said, sounding both grumpy and somehow pleased at the same time.

"My leg hurt to much to go traipsing," Rozenn muttered sullenly. "And my casting arm is still just as damaged as it was five minutes ago."

"Then here's a thought, Nordling, let me look after you and stop fighting the healing process," Galmar said in exasperation.

Rozenn looked away, and swiped moisture - not tears, definitely not tears, the Dragonborn doesn't cry, it's just leftover from being blinded by the light spell - away from her eyes, sniffed hard, and muttered something unintelligible.

"What was that? Something in Dovah?"

"I said I don't like feeling vulnerable like this. I can't even cast properly with my arm like this," Rozenn said sullenly.

"Can't you cast with both arms?" Galmar asked, moving to the table and chairs and setting the tray down before sitting.

"Don't you favour one arm for your sword and another for your shield?" Rozenn countered.

"It's not the same thing," Galmar scoffed.

"It is for me. This is my good casting arm. My spells are better cast from my left arm, not my right. And it _hurts_," Rozenn replied, ending on an undignified whine.

*-*-*  
TBC if my muses ever come back


End file.
